Chapter Eight — Mafia threats escalate (Blood Debts)

Elara's POV

The photo burned itself into my mind.

My father knelt on concrete, his hands bound behind him, his face swollen and bruised but his eyes were still defiant. Still alive. The timestamp blinked in the corner of the image, cruel and precise.

Recent.

My fingers shook as I locked my phone and slid it into my pocket, as it might bite me.

Ruin watched me from across the room. He didn’t ask what the message said. He already knew. His jaw was set, his body coiled like a loaded weapon, but his eyes—those dark, unreadable eyes—were on me, not the threat.

“They’re moving faster,” I said quietly.

“Yes.”

“You expected this.”

“Yes.”

That should have terrified me.

Instead, it made me angry.

“Then stop deciding everything for me,” I snapped. “I’m not a package being shipped between monsters.”

Ruin stepped closer, his presence filling the space until the air felt thick. “You’re not a package,” he said lowly. “You’re leverage. And that makes you dangerous.”

“I didn’t ask to be.”

“No,” he agreed. “But you’ll learn how to use it.”

The compound buzzed with tension. Bikes roared to life outside. Men moved with sharp purpose, checking weapons, murmuring into phones. The Iron Reapers weren’t panicking but they were preparing for war.

Mara entered, shrugging into her jacket. “Bratva confirmed. Volkov’s hosting at the old cathedral by the docks.”

“A church?” I whispered.

Mara’s mouth twisted. “Mafia loves irony.”

Ruin turned to her. “How many?”

“At least thirty soldiers. Snipers on the roofs. He wants an audience.”

“He always does,” Ruin muttered.

Mara’s gaze flicked to me. “He’s making a statement. If he can steal you from the Iron Reapers, every syndicate will see it as weakness.”

My chest tightened. “So this isn’t just about my father.”

“No,” Ruin said. “It’s about territory.”

I crossed my arms, forcing my voice steady. “Then take me out of the equation.”

Ruin’s eyes hardened. “That’s not how this works.”

“Then explain it to me,” I demanded. “Explain why Volkov wants me so badly.”

Ruin hesitated.

That scared me more than his silence ever had.

“Because of who your mother was,” he said finally.

The world seemed to tilt. “My mother died when I was twelve.”

“Yes,” Ruin said. “After she disappeared for three months.”

My breath caught. “What are you talking about?”

“She wasn’t just a translator,” he continued. “She was an intermediary. She negotiated between the Bratva and rival syndicates when wars threatened to get messy.”

“No,” I whispered. “That’s not true.”

“She walked away,” Ruin said. “Volkov never forgave her.”

Mara added quietly, “Your mother vanished with money. Information. Names.”

I shook my head. “She was sick. She...”

“She chose you,” Ruin cut in. “And paid for it with her life.”

The words punched the air from my lungs.

“So this is about revenge,” I said hollowly.

Ruin stepped closer. “It’s about legacy.”

The drive to the docks felt unreal. I sat behind Ruin on his bike, arms wrapped tightly around him, the vibration humming through my bones. The city blurred past us—lights, shadows, danger everywhere.

When we stopped, the cathedral loomed ahead, half-ruined, gothic spires cutting into the night sky. Floodlights illuminated the entrance. Black cars lined the street like vultures.

A party.

Ruin dismounted first, then turned and helped me down. His hands lingered at my waist a second longer than necessary.

“Remember,” he murmured. “Stay close. Say nothing unless I tell you.”

I nodded.

Inside, the cathedral had been transformed. Candles lined the aisles. Music played softly. Men in tailored suits watched us enter, their gazes sharp and assessing.

Nikolai Volkov stood at the altar.

He smiled when he saw me. “Elara,” he purred. “You look… claimed.”

Ruin’s arm wrapped around my shoulders, possessive and unmistakable. “Careful,” he said. “You’re standing on holy ground.”

Volkov laughed. “There’s nothing holy here.”

His gaze dropped to my ring.

Something dark flickered in his eyes.

“Ah,” he said. “So the biker finally marked his territory.”

“You invited us,” Ruin replied coldly. “Say what you want.”

Volkov gestured—and two men dragged my father forward.

I gasped, lunging instinctively, but Ruin’s grip tightened.

Papa looked at me. His eyes softened. He smiled. Even now.

“Papa”

“I’m proud of you,” he said hoarsely.

Volkov clapped. “Touching. But let’s not get sentimental.”

He turned to the crowd. “Tonight, we announce an alliance. One sealed by marriage.”

My blood ran cold.

“You don’t get to decide that,” Ruin growled.

Volkov raised a brow. “Don’t I?”

He nodded.

A man stepped forward—tall, sharp-featured, eyes like ice. He wore a tailored suit and a familiar expression.

Recognition slammed into me.

“Matteo,” I whispered.

My ex-fiancé. The one who vanished six months before my forced marriage.

Volkov smiled slowly. “Allow me to introduce the groom.”

The room erupted in murmurs.

Matteo met my gaze—and smiled.

“I never left you, Elara,” he said softly. “I was waiting.”

Ruin’s body went rigid beside me.

Volkov leaned close, his voice a whisper only I could hear.

“Three men want you,” he murmured. “Your husband. Your past. And me.”

He straightened, raising his glass.

“Choose wisely,” he announced. “Because only one of them will leave this church alive.”

My phone vibrated again.

A countdown timer started: 00:59

And Matteo stepped toward me holding a gun.

The gun in Matteo’s hand looked wrong—too familiar, too heavy for the man I once loved.

My heart slammed painfully against my ribs.

“Matteo… don’t,” I whispered.

He stopped a few feet away, eyes never leaving mine. “You always did say my name like it meant something.”

“It did,” I said. “Once.”

Ruin shifted beside me. I felt it instantly—the subtle change in his stance, the lethal stillness of a predator deciding where to strike. His arm tightened around me, not to restrain, but to anchor.

Matteo noticed.

A flicker of jealousy crossed his face. “So it’s true,” he said softly. “He owns you now.”

“I don’t own her,” Ruin replied coldly. “But you’re about to lose your life.”

Volkov laughed, delighted. “Easy, gentlemen. This is still a celebration.”

The countdown on my phone ticked: 00:41

I swallowed, forcing myself to breathe. “Matteo… you disappeared. I searched for you. I thought you were dead.”

“I was,” he said calmly. “The man you loved didn’t survive the Bratva.”

My skin prickled. “You’re working for him.”

“For Volkov?” Matteo scoffed. “No. I’m working for myself.”

Volkov’s smile tightened. “Careful, Matteo.”

Matteo didn’t look at him. “You taught me well, Nikolai. Loyalty is a leash. Power is freedom.”

My stomach dropped.

“This isn’t about marriage,” I said slowly. “Is it?”

Matteo’s gaze softened—dangerously. “It’s about choice. Something you were never given.”

The timer buzzed softly: 00:30

Volkov raised his glass again. “Half a minute, Elara. Choose your future.”

The room felt like it was closing in. Thirty armed men. Snipers above. No exits I could see. No version of this ended clean.

Unless…

My mind raced.

Rule two: don’t wander alone.

Rule five: loyalty is life.

Ruin had said breaking the rules would save my father. But maybe obeying one could save us all.

I turned to Ruin, my voice barely a breath. “Trust me.”

His eyes snapped to mine. “Elara”

“Please.”

For a fraction of a second, the unbreakable alpha cracked and he nodded once.

I stepped out of his hold. Gasps rippled through the cathedral.

Volkov’s brows lifted. “Ah. The bride chooses independence.”

Matteo smiled, triumphant. “You see? She always comes back to me.”

I walked toward Matteo, my pulse roaring in my ears, my legs trembling but steady. Every step felt like walking into fire.

00:18

“I never loved you,” I said clearly.

Matteo stiffened.

“I loved who you pretended to be,” I continued. “But that man would never point a gun at me.”

Volkov chuckled. “You’re running out of time, Elara.”

I reached Matteo and gently pushed the barrel of the gun down—my hand shaking, my heart screaming.

“You want power?” I whispered. “Then prove you don’t need him.”

Matteo hesitated.

That hesitation was everything.

Volkov’s smile vanished. “Matteo.”

The gunfire came from above.

Glass shattered. A sniper dropped from the balcony, blood spraying across the altar. Screams erupted. Chaos exploded through the cathedral.

Ruin moved instantly dragging me back, shielding me as bullets tore into stone. The Iron Reapers surged forward, guns blazing. The church became a warzone.

“Timer!” Axel shouted somewhere behind us.

I fumbled for my phone: 00:05

Volkov was gone—already retreating through a side door.

My father...I searched, then I saw him.

Papa lay near the altar, bleeding, guards fallen around him. Still alive.

I broke from Ruin’s hold and ran.

“ELARA!” he shouted.

I slid to my knees beside my father, hands slick with blood. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Papa smiled weakly. “Just like your mother,” he whispered.

The timer hit zero.

Nothing happened, no explosion, no gunshot.

Then Volkov’s voice echoed through hidden speakers, calm and amused.

“You chose wrong,” he said. “But I admire the courage.”

The lights cut out completely.

In the darkness, something cold pressed against my throat.

A whisper brushed my ear.

“Congratulations, Mrs. Cross,” Volkov murmured.

“You just started a war you can’t survive.”